It has become customary to press a blade to the inside of my left wrist when she tells me I am worthless.

I ache for the blood to seep from my damaged skin, pumped through my body from my damaged heart.

I sit in silence and wait; for him to come in and comfort me, to show me care and compassion, but he doesn’t.
Not anymore.

It’s hours.

I made a plan in seventh grade that the anklet would stop the burn of silver.

Anklets break.
Promises break.
It all becomes okay.

After the death of my grandmother, the last time I thought I would do it, I found a red string.

Tied it around my ankle.

Promised myself I would never do it whilst it was on.

But bad days exist.
And so do scissors.

And everlasting stress that never leaves and an easy way to feel without feeling.

Blood bubbles when it seeps through the gaps in your skin.

And it hurts but what hurts more is the ache in your chest when she tells you
you're stupid
             you don't respect me
                        you owe use
                                    we own you
                                                I want to hit you
                                                            c­hange your attitude, girl
                                                            ­            Watch out
                                                             ­                       Obey me
                                                              ­                                                             I AM YOUR MOTHER  

as if mother, was a synonym for god.

Guilt and hurt and god how did I end up here again?

It's knowing the answer.

Its knowing blame is bad and modesty is good and pain is for the ones who love but love is for the ones who are free from pain.

It's having to keep silent because asking for support is like giving her another bullet
            another thing to say
                        another reason to want to die

And when you pick your own crying body up off the floor, bruises from biting and pinching and hitting and clumps of hair and tissues of blood,

It's being alone.  

Its the eerie silence that follows.

It's concealer on wrists. It's looking down to avoid eye contact. Its wishing someone would ******* notice.

it's structured loneliness.

it's the skills you had to learn all alone.

It's fighting for breath, not knowing whether to stop or breathe.

It's about helping others

                                                               ­         before ever helping yourself

It's being called worthless at the bottom of bad days

It's your own problems magnified because you don't hide them well enough

                                    It's hurting
                                                                ­       and I want it to stop

I write as the blade is pressed to my wrist once again.

My baby.
You’re wondering about the type of women you want to be. It’s a sad and soggy Sunday and you sit by the railing while it’s raining and the wind sighs at your presence.
You long for love, and peace, and mystery and excitement and you long to be wanted for who you are not who you could be if you were small.

My baby.
Everything you want isn’t everything you see.
Damaged isn’t pretty, my baby and maybe it looks it but the pain, oh baby the pain is like nothing you’ve ever felt.
And maybe you crave the mystery, maybe you crave the smudges mascara and the hunger pains.
But honest to truth my baby
Being this ****** up ain’t cute
Being this ****** up isn’t safe.
Being this ****** up makes you wonder what in the world is.

My baby there is nothing like the ache of being empty,
The sad and solemn nothing, the pitiless void that seldom empties but when it does you put stars in his eyes for he is the only other person with the key.
And a lot of the time the key doesn’t fit your locks,
The walls you’ve put up are brick.
Solid.
And for every brick you stack he takes one away, eager to pull them down he tries and baby one day you might stop building.
Maybe it’ll be on a soft and sunny Saturday when both of you are laughing and you see it within him.
You’ll stop building and he’ll smile knowing that
Yes.
Finally.
Free.

My baby your walls are thick and strong,
Most of the time,
Sometimes they fall but you pick them up and rebuild don’t let anyone see the truth.
He knows.

My baby the boy you love will never quiet fill your cup and it’ll break you but it’s not his job to.
You have to try too.
Because baby I know you hurt and I know you just want out of the cruel ******* world but now no.
Now you have someone to love you.
To love you for who you are and not who you would be if you were small.
Someone who loves you so that to go would be to take a piece of him with you.
Maybe that piece is the spark you fell in love with.
Baby no now you have someone to live for.

My baby I know you think smudged mascara and running away is desirable and makes them want more but baby.
On the good days you feel like a well oiled machine, task after task focus, seem well act well everybody laughs, smooth machine yet still lack the basic humanity that should consume you.

My baby on the bad days, broken down, some days you manage to trudge your way out of bed and into the daytime, empty but there,
Worse, the days where you can’t get up. Where you open the window and stare out into the garden you’ve always seen and you let the sadness and elusive sleepiness win until you’re exhausted with sleep.
Days where blades help you feel and help the anger inside you escape when the blood bubbles through your torn skin.

My baby the overthinking will drive you crazy, where the concept of an ear is weird even when he whispers sweet nothings into them and tucks that little stray piece of hair behind them.
Where *** is a mechanism by which sounds so wrong but feels so right but baby do not use it to cure the sadness.
It will always win.  

My baby home is haunting.
The ghosts of who you used to be haunt you, taunt you, and the love you used to feel is gone. Home isn’t home. Home is a house in the hillside.
Home is the space between his arms where your head rests against his chest and he breathes in to smell the coconut in your hair, home is the way he stares at you and smiles, home is the way he plays video games with you in his lap, home is his dilated pupils, home is the weird way you hold hands on the train, home is short jokes and home is when he looks at you as if you
You
You my baby
Are just absolutely spectacular
Even when you feel like a fleck of dust on this pointless world.

My baby though he is home, mental illness and distress isn’t pretty.
Panic attacks and ugly crying in public isn’t pretty. The disability of breathing isn’t pretty. Being perched over a toilet bowl isn’t pretty. Not eating for days isn’t pretty. Pulling out clumps of hair isn’t pretty. Being clumsy because you are so anaemic isn’t pretty. Passing out isn’t pretty. Wrist scars and bloodstained sheets aren’t pretty.
Being sick isn’t pretty.

Baby I wish we’d stopped when we knew.

Baby I wish help meant something because though you’ve tried,
Nothing gets through.

Baby when it rains it pours, and through every storm I have you, my hand is there to hold.
So we’ll call Noah’s arc and we’ll start a new world.
I know you’re hurting.
But my baby I promise one day we’ll be safe.
No longer shipwrecked.
My baby one day
One day
We’ll be free.

/hold me close and kiss me numb
under an empty star-filled sky.
breathe me in and exhale the ghosts of your past
let them go
I know we both have our demons but
baby tonight
tonight lets lay them to rest and dance
in a bed that isn't ours and let's make
tonight baby
no, let's make the rest of our lives baby
let's make love tonight./

He stands at the foot of the bed tall and strong
Looking intensely at my naked body as if he is figuring out a maths problem
but instead of numbers he subtracts clothes and divides my legs and adds a little bit of his soul, a slow pour of himself into me.
for I don't know how long, a minute? ten? an hour?
we become one body
one body rattled with pain and sweat and lust and ecstasy and desire and pleasure and him and me
us

he holds my hand, eager and tender when I need it.
And when we are done he smiles at me, tells me he loves me and
we both walk down the stairs naked to shower
not only our bodies but our hearts too
for you help complete mine

*** is just *** but this is so much more in every way.
you once said to me that
you'd had *** but you hadn't made love
i hope i changed your mind.

She asks how i do it.
How i love you with such a
fierosity
but also such an 'i dont care' tainted calm

I tell her its nothing
nothing of experience and
nothing of being 'prepared'
not something you learn from a book
but something you learn from love.

i love him with such a fire in my heart
that sometimes i choke in the smoke
and it leaves me breathless

when he runs his fingers up my thigh and
kisses me slowly
teasing me,
tainting my lips with the fresh taste of
strawberries and mint.

a fire brews in my belly
and as my eyes roll to the back of my brain
lulled in ecstacy and desire
and never quite being able to pull him close enough
to be satisfied

when i look in his eyes and see
passion
raw
*******
passion
as we make eachother lose ourselves
between the bedsheets we play between

when he texts me
how much he needs me
my lips
my hips
between his arms
in a dim winter morning
my heart skips a beat and the thought
of him
plagues my mind all ******* day.

i love him like a fire that is not phased by
rain
or tears
in fact we love stronger through it all.
for if i am gasoline he is the spark
that ignites us
and leaves us burning through the night.

but i love him calm too
calm like safety
a boat softly rocking on the horizon
under a starry night
where the moon shines for you
for me
for an us we indulge ourselves in

what we cant seem to accept
is the sheer fact of
we deserve this.
we
are
deserving
of
this
love

and what matters not is
how
or where
but ask away my love because i love feeling
like you cant believe how
******* ******* lucky we are
to have found a home
in such a broken place

i love him calm because
he fills the spaces of me
i believed would stay empty
but **** it feels good
to feel closer to whole

i love him calm because i know
i dont overwhelm him
as much as i overwhelm myself

i love him calm because
he is human
and deserving of everything
happy and free
and maybe
maybe
i can be that

loving him calm isnt about not caring
its not about the
'he can wait for now, im with you'
as its not out of care
its out of a pact to stay more in the moment
and i know he understands

he brings a calm to my chaos

he hasnt seen the best of me
but i love him calm because he
holds me close when i need him
and when i dont
and when i call him falling apart
he answers
tells me to stop apologising
reaches through the line to dry
the tears
cascading down my freckled cheek.

i love him calm because i
dont need to fight for his affection
or love
or attention
i love him calm because when i need
a break from those things
he does his best  

we're a fire and an ocean
we are the sum of the sun and sky
and we are both the thunder that rocks the earth
and the lightning that burns the sky bright

and i wouldnt change it for the world

My soul
sighs
with
peace
tranquility
and
safety
whenever i
see
you